Smoking With The Chief

Updated on August 21, 2010

Like a warm hug sending shivers down my spine, the sickly
sweet smoke meanders through my lungs exploding into millions of tiny smiley
faces raging through my bloodstream. Laying on my side on a grass mat covering the dirt
floor of the Chief’s hut, I saw the
flame from the kerosene torch reflected in his eyes. Rolling onto my back, my
lungs released a long, thick stream of opium smoke, billowing slowly out the
ramshackle thatched ceiling like the clouds in front of a slow moving cold
front. Our eyes met as he reached over
to take the old piece of bamboo from my hand. My head nodded slowly as he held the pipe over
the flame, burning the residue off to make it ready for another hit. Outside I
could hear the sound of children laughing and wondered where the others had
gone.

The Chiefs village was located in the Golden Triangle, a
triangular sliver of Northern Thailand located between Laos and what was then
known as Burma. Reachable only by foot, it was situated at the end of a grueling
daylong uphill trek from Chaing Mai. Surrounded by steep terraces heavily
cultivated with opium poppies, the Chiefs village was a group of small weather
beaten huts standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding greenery. Beautiful to look at, the opium bloom produces
a ball shaped bulb which is it’s prized fruit. When the surface of the bulb is
cut, it weeps a black, sticky, tar like substance that is scraped off and
harvested as what we know as opium. It was no coincidence that I was lying on a
grass mat on the dirt floor of the Chiefs hut. Being that I was hanging with
the Chief, there was no shortage of the black, sticky, tar like substance.

You can hear her in your ears and feel her in your bones.
When you first meet her she may make you sick but she will always keep you
coming back for more. The day I arrived
in the village I wondered why you had to lie down when you smoked with the
Chief. It’s a simple thing really. When you smoke with the Chief, gravity
becomes a huge part of your day. It’s like a space walk in reverse. When you smoke with the Chief you say “Uncle”
to gravity. So when you lay on your side
with the torch between you and the drug addicted elder, when you tilt the bamboo pipe ever so
slightly to capture the flame and bubble the tar, the line between where you end and the pipe begins will blur, you will meet the floor like a sunday bride, and when you see the toothless grin on the dirty
face of the Chief, you will know you are already there. Your journey has ended where it
began. It saves you the falling when you lay down to smoke with the Chief.

Comments 7 comments

It's good to see you back on the fiction trail. Your depictions of places and atmospheres are becoming more sustained, which serves you well. Also, this technique of blending story with statements and information is rather successfully done.

layla 6 years ago

let me guest^^^^^your narating this one with a harsh voice.

shazwellyn 6 years ago from Great Britain

This really is good. The descriptions spawned an array of pictures in my head. Rather like the opium eh? Not that I would know what it is like!

I liked how you intermixed fact in with your story. It really says a lot when someone reads a piece like this and extinctively wants to know more about your experience without knowing whether the story was actually true or not.